


Soft Spot

by tacos4two



Series: Tutelage [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Fluff, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Non-Consensual Bondage, Pre-Relationship, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Whump, in the medieval sense aka a potion, wow its not as bad as these tags are making it seem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22416643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacos4two/pseuds/tacos4two
Summary: While on a routine patrol, Prince Arthur and Merlin run into a lost stranger. They dutifully decide to help him out. What could go wrong?**This is a prequel to my other story, Weak Spot!
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Tutelage [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587784
Comments: 42
Kudos: 326





	1. The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is a prequel, Arthur and Merlin haven't revealed their feelings for each other yet. I wanted to write something that is a little closer to the show. Enjoy!

Merlin dashed down the hall of the castle, the sound of his boots hitting stone echoing around him. His satchel was full of delightful-smelling herbs, spices, and vegetables that he planned on cooking into a stew. In his arms he held his soft blue cloak, folded neatly. After seeing clouds that promised rain, he had ran to Arthur's chambers and fetched it to keep Arthur a bit warmer on their afternoon patrol.

As he rounded a corner, he halted, his heart skipping a beat. He found himself face-to-face with a pair of stormy, grey eyes. They belonged to the sorcerer that he had just witnessed Uther condemn to death. The royal guards gripping the sorcerer’s arms jerked him backwards, and Merlin quickly muttered an apology, ducking past them. Merlin glanced back, sympathy swimming in his eyes. Then, he hurried outside to where Arthur was waiting. 

Arthur was already mounted on his steed. “What took you so long, Merlin?” he pleasantly greeted. Merlin tossed the cloak up to him. Arthur caught it easily.

“I was getting this cloak. Which you stole from me, mind you,” Merlin replied with faux annoyance, hopping onto his own horse.

Arthur draped it over his shoulders. “I can tell,” he sniffed a few times, “because it still reeks of you.” Arthur smiled wryly. It was a compliment masked as an insult. Of course he hoarded a piece of clothing that smelled like Merlin, it was one of his favorite smells, next to herb crusted capon. Merlin gave him an unamused glance, then he clicked his tongue and rode towards the gates. Arthur’s horse galloped after him.

⁂

While they traveled further from the city into the thicket, light raindrops began to fall. Arthur pulled the hood over his head. Merlin blinked the droplets from his eyelashes, relishing the melody the rain played upon the colorful leaves blanketing the forest floor. The patrol had been uneventful, but Merlin had enjoyed freeing his mind and spending time with Arthur—just Arthur.

A terrified whinny sliced through the air as Merlin’s horse suddenly reared backwards. Unprepared, Merlin lost his balance and tumbled to the wet ground with a thud. He opened his eyes then flinched them shut when the rain made contact.

“Who are you?” he heard Arthur demand. When he lifted his head, Arthur had already dismounted, pointing his sword towards a young man. Merlin scrambled to his feet, massaging the elbow he landed on.

“V-Vivian, I’m Vivian,” the stranger stuttered, holding his hands up defensively. “You’re Prince Arthur, right? I mean no harm. Please, my lord, I just need help.”

Arthur slowly lowered his sword but did not sheathe it. Merlin ambled to his side, getting a better look at Vivian. He looked as young as Merlin, his eyes matched the color of the dreary sky, and his face was thin, unhealthily so. Something about the boy was familiar. “What’s wrong?” Merlin chimed in.

Vivian shoulders relaxed. “I… got lost. I need to get back to Camelot,” he explained, wiping the raindrops off his face with a sleeve.

“Camelot’s that way,” Arthur directly bluntly, pointing his thumb behind him. Merlin elbowed him. _Prat._

“We’ll lead you back, Vivian,” Merlin comforted with a warm smile. The rain began to let up to a light drizzle. “But why don’t we get you something to eat first? You look starved.”

Arthur stared at Merlin. Of course Merlin took charge, as if he were the future King of Camelot. But Arthur’s stomach had been aching with desire for Merlin’s cooking, so he decided against arguing.

“That would be lovely,” Vivian agreed, shivering in his damp, tattered clothes. “I thank you," he added with a bow of his head towards Arthur.

Merlin gave a small nod of acknowledgement and got to work. He wiped soggy leaves off a fallen log and motioned for Arthur to sit with a quiet, “here, sire.” As he gathered firewood, he frowned at how wet it was. Merlin dropped the pile in front of Arthur and deftly arranged the logs and sticks. No matter how many times he tried to strike a fire, the damp wood refused to catch. When he looked up at Arthur, he was watching his struggles with a dull expression. He raised his eyebrows. Merlin gave an abashed, nervous chuckle.

“How’s this plan working out for you, Merlin?” Arthur taunted. He wrung out the hood of his cloak, and a stream of water fell from it.

“It’ll catch. Eventually,” Merlin muttered, and Vivian pitifully added some half-dry leaves to the pile. Merlin gave up rather quickly. “Vivian, would you mind tying the horses to a tree for me?” Vivian affirmed and dusted off his muddy hands, jogging over to the two horses. _One down_ , Merlin thought. Then, Merlin dramatically turned his head, looking past Arthur at nothing in particular. “Arthur, look!” he cried out. Arthur immediately snapped his head to look behind him, a gloved hand flying to the hilt of his sword. At the same moment, Merlin whispered _forbearnahn_ , and the wood went up in flames. He warmed his hands over the fire. Plopping down next to Arthur, he grinned with satisfaction.

“ _Mer_ lin.” Arthur clearly didn’t share Merlin’s contentment.

“It caught!” Merlin beamed, pointing to the fire.

“I see that,” Arthur grumbled, “but what were you yelling about?”

Merlin’s face flicked to a sincere expression. “You didn’t see it?”

Arthur took in a deep breath, rolling his eyes slowly. “No, Merlin, I didn’t see much of anything. What was it?” He inquired, still a bit unsettled.

“It was… a deer?” Merlin fumbled.

It was Arthur who elbowed Merlin this time. _Idiot._ “A deer? In the forest? Merlin, alert the guard!” Arthur mocked, and a smile tugged as Merlin’s lips. The rain had stopped fully now, and Arthur removed his hood. Merlin fixed a lock of blonde that was sticking up. He couldn’t have the prince looking disorderly in front of one of his subjects. As if on cue, Vivian returned, squatting next to the fire. He looked from the flame to Merlin with wide eyes.

“Thanks, Vivian,” Merlin said, and Vivian returned an awkward smile. Merlin opened his bag, unloading a small pot and knife. He poured the water from his waterskin into the pot and skillfully chopped up the vegetables. After adding the perfect combination of Arthur’s favorite herbs and spices, he placed the pot over the fire to simmer.

“Smells delicious,” Vivian complimented, already salivating. “If I may ask, do you have any more water? I’m rather thirsty.”

Merlin lifted his light waterskin. He had used all of his water on the stew. “No, but I’ll go fetch some more. There’s a fresh stream just over there.” Merlin stood up, and at the same time, Arthur threw his own waterskin to Merlin. It simply flopped to the ground.

“Mine needs refilled as well.”

Vivian picked up Arthur’s waterskin and gripped the one in Merlin’s hand. “I can do it. You’re already cooking for me,” he offered softly. Merlin let him take it, his eyes shining with gratitude.

Arthur cringed at Vivian’s ‘for me.’ As if Merlin would prepare _Arthur’s_ favorite stew _for him._ He just happened to be present. Arthur nearly called out ‘try not to get lost again!’ after Vivian, but he bit back his pettiness.

Merlin stirred the pot slowly, steam rising into the crisp autumn air. He tasted it every so often and added pinches of spices accordingly. Arthur watched him fondly. He frequently observed Merlin cooking, yet he had learned nothing about the craft. However, he supposed he did not have to. Merlin would always be there. Admittedly, he performed some tasks well for such an incompetent servant. Rarely, though.

After bringing the spoon to his lips once more, Merlin hummed in approval. He raised it close to Arthur’s face, and Arthur leaned back. “Taste it, Arthur,” Merlin encouraged. Arthur plucked the spoon from his hand, shoving the remainder of the stew in his mouth. Merlin raised his eyebrows.

Arthur’s tongue recoiled from the scalding food, and his face pinched up. “I’s h...hot,” he choked, panting with his mouth open in an attempt to cool it down. 

A smug grin grew on Merlin’s face. “Oh, don’t be dramatic, sire. I didn’t add _that_ much spice,” he feigned misunderstanding. The snap of a twig drew his attention away from the distressed prince. Vivian had returned, full waterskins in either of his hands. “Ah, Vivian,” Merlin chirped, scooping up some more stew, “try this. _His royal highness_ disapproves, but in my opinion, it’s not half bad.”

Arthur finally managed to swallow, and what he was able to taste on his burnt tongue was sweet yet spicy, savory yet not too rich. He wanted more this instant. But Merlin was holding the spoon up to Vivian. Due to his hands being full, Vivian moved forward for Merlin to feed it to him. Arthur shot up, yanking the spoon from Merlin’s hand.

“That won't be necessary. If you exclude the fact that I nearly lost my tongue… It’s perfect, Merlin,” Arthur admitted. Merlin squinted at him, not entirely sure if the compliment was genuine. Arthur grabbed his waterskin from Vivian, downing half of it while a small amount dribbled down his chin. The chilled water soothed his sore mouth.

After pouring the stew into two bowls, Merlin handed one to Arthur. He could have sworn he saw some form of excitement in Arthur's eyes. Turning to Vivian, he explained, “Sorry, I only brought two bowls. We’ll have to share.” Arthur coughed. Merlin made himself comfortable on a log across from the prince.

“That’s quite alright,” Vivian politely conceded, taking a seat next to Merlin. “Here,” he urged, offering the waterskin.

Merlin shook his head as he swallowed a bite. “You have it, Vivian. You said you're parched.”

“No,” he insisted sternly. “I, uh, I already quenched my thirst back at the stream.” Merlin murmured his thanks as Vivian exchanged Merlin’s waterskin for the bowl. Merlin washed down the flavor of the stew with the fresh water.

The three of them conversed idly as they ate, Vivian sharing the gossip of the common folk and peppering Merlin and Arthur with questions about royal life. Originally, Merlin had been fueling most of the conversation, but he began to feel a bit lightheaded, so he grew silent and let Arthur take over. Arthur spoke with pride as he told the tale of how Merlin, very stupidly, drank poison, which was entirely Merlin’s fault, and he had to battle all manners of horrid beasts to save him, but it wasn’t difficult at all, not for him. While he was in the middle of describing how he scaled a cliff in a pitch black cave with no help whatsoever, the bowl slipped out of Merlin’s hand. The remaining stew splashed onto Arthur’s boot.

“Merlin, you idi—” Arthur started, but he stiffened as soon as he looked at Merlin. He was doubled over, his eyebrows furrowed in… was that fear? Bewilderment spread over Arthur’s face. He knew for a fact that Merlin did not have any recent ailments, so what was this?

Merlin knew it was too late. But Arthur was larger in stature than him, so maybe it wouldn’t take effect. At least not yet. “Art’ur, don’t drink.” His words slurred together. When he moved forward to grab the waterskin from Arthur’s grip, the world spun. Then he tasted mud.

“Merlin?” Arthur panicked. He stood, and he found that his legs completely disagreed with that movement. Arthur collapsed to his knees, and he finally understood. He had assumed the water tasted slightly funny because the fool had accidentally scooped up some debris. He thought that he had grown exhausted because of his strenuous training session this morning. And he believed his dislike for Vivian was an overreaction to his overt friendliness towards his servant. “You bas’ard,” he snarled, glaring up at Vivian, and certainly not sounding as intimidating as he had aimed to. 

Vivian arose, tossing Merlin’s waterskin aside. “One last question, my lord,” Vivian spoke, calm as ever. He bent down and gripped onto Merlin’s calves, dragging him backwards. Arthur swiftly reached out to latch on to Merlin’s arm, but Merlin’s arm was no longer where he had just seen it. His vision was swimming. He hit the ground, his armor clinking heavily. His fingertips were just out of reach of Merlin’s. Vivian continued with an uncharacteristic sharp edge to his voice, “what are your true feelings towards magic?”

Merlin could not concentrate. He knew Vivian—damn Vivian—had just spoke, but he had no idea what he said. And Arthur was in the dirt now, too. Fantastic. Waves of nausea washed over him as he felt himself being lifted up. This was bad. Unfortunately, his small cutting knife was too far away. In a last-ditch effort, he managed to snag a tiny bag of spices he had left next to the pot. A few granules spilled out, leaving a small red-orange trail on the wet leaves.

Vivian had hauled Merlin over his shoulder. “I’ll give you some time to consider your answer,” he smirked. Arthur’s mind was screaming at his body to get up, to fight, to help Merlin, but it simply would not listen. Vivian strode away, Merlin swaying limply in his hold. He was headed west, Arthur noted. Or perhaps it was east? Damn it, direction was the _one_ fact that he needed to get straight, for Merlin’s sake. Arthur’s heavy eyelids began to flutter. Cold, wet drops started to shower down on him. And Merlin was getting further and further away.

He just needed to rest his eyes for a moment.

Then, the rain drowned the fire.


	2. Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motives are revealed and mistakes are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *50 years later* Heeeeeeeey. Heeey. How y'all doin'...?
> 
> I have no excuse. I was like, wow this sucks, I don't really want to finish it. But then I saw the comments you guys left, and I was like, I am a horrible person LMAO. Also, we're all quarantined, woo!
> 
> I'm so sorry about the long ass wait. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> *Warning for depictions of vomiting and brief violence, but they're not very graphic.

Merlin stirred. He felt like he just had the worst night’s sleep of his life. He was in an upright position, his back leaning against something cold and hard. Had he fallen asleep in the library again? The second thing he noticed was that it felt as if there was a boulder crushing his head. When he cracked his eyelids open, the brightness that penetrated the sensitive blue caused the pounding in his head to double. Merlin groaned. Sweat broke out over his skin, and his whole body flashed hot. He felt a sour taste rise in his mouth, and had enough sense to turn his head to the side before he gagged, and the stew he had just eaten was expelled from his stomach.

Merlin panted, bile dripping from his lips. He absolutely loathed falling ill. And now he was going to have to beg Arthur for the day off.

He felt a cool cloth gently wipe against his mouth and chin, clearing away any sick. It felt incredible against his heated skin. Merlin squinted his eyes open again, and saw a blur of blonde. “...Arthur?” he murmured weakly, “‘feel awful.”

The rag was drawn away from his face along with the relief it brought, and Merlin wanted to reach out and pull Arthur’s arm back. But something tugged against his wrist, keeping it in place. He blinked, confused, and opened his eyes wider. His vision sharpened, and he found a pair of cold, stony eyes staring back at him.

“...Not Arthur,” Merlin noted. Where was Arthur?

“Not Arthur,” Vivian repeated, a small smile forming on his face as he squatted in front of his captive. At the sound of his voice, memories came flooding back to Merlin: the helpless stranger, the funny-tasting waterskins, the overwhelming drowsiness, Arthur’s sheer panic. His pulse quickened. He gave another tug at his wrists, but the coarse rope dug into his skin, keeping his arms bound behind his back. A quick glance downwards informed him his ankles were in the same situation. It was quite a wake-up call. Observing his surroundings, he found that they were inside of some crumbling stone ruins. Leafy vines slithered across the walls, and dim rays of light filtered through the broken ceiling. Vivian continued, “but it is Arthur whom I’ve been searching for.”

Merlin gave Vivian one of his best glares and scoffed half-heartedly. “Well, ’m sorry to inform you that you nabbed the wrong person.” He managed to speak more clearly now, utilizing his cheeky tone. 

His captor gave another grin and shook his head. “You were my goal from the start, Merlin,” Vivian calmly stated. Merlin furrowed his brows. He had never met this man before today, what could he possibly want with him, of all people? Unconsciously, he smacked his lips, wanting the vile taste out of his mouth. Vivian was attentive, and he was quick to offer a glass bottle of clear liquid to Merlin. “Here,” he coaxed, “it’s fresh water.”

Merlin desperately a sip, but he was not _that_ stupid. “I think I’ll pass,” he replied bluntly. Vivian gave a shrug and took a swig of the water himself. Merlin’s patience was wearing thin, and he still felt like he was a stone’s throw away from death itself. His magic could easily free him from his restraints, but he didn’t want Vivian to learn about his powers. He certainly didn’t trust him to keep it secret, and he didn’t want to have to kill the guy. Not yet, at least. That could easily change with his answers to these questions: “Why are we here? Where’s Arthur?” he demanded bitterly.

“Arthur is fine, he’s right where we left him.”

“Don’t regard him so casually,” Merlin spat, surprised by his own temper. What was the point of defending the prat? Something about hearing Arthur’s name come out of the bastard’s mouth made him prickle. Not to mention, his whole body was aching and his head was spinning. He was beginning to despise Vivian more and more with each passing moment. At least, Merlin was relieved that he was taken instead of Arthur.

“The _prince_ ,” Vivian enunciated, “is safe. I only needed to speak with you—privately.” He sat back on his heels, interlacing his fingers. “Hear me out. My elder brother was just arrested in Camelot. Originally, I was going to force an exchange, your life for his. I know the prince has a softer heart than the king, even for servants.” Merlin had to force himself not to roll his eyes. “But then… I saw you,” Vivian explained. His words were full of intrigue. Merlin locked eyes with him, unnerved. “I saw you light that fire. You’re the Crown Prince of Camelot’s right-hand man, and you have _magic_.”

Merlin took that as his cue to get the hell out of there. He called forth his magic, attempting to force some distance between him and Vivian, and his eyes shone golden. Then, like an oxygen-deprived flame, his power simply... fizzled out. Vivian was still directly in front of him, unharmed and unphased. Merlin felt what little energy he had drain from him. He tried to muster up his magic again, slurring a spell, this time to free his bonds. But the instant he felt his magic tingling within him, it slipped away. He was woozy, but he wasn’t giving up yet. An iron-like grip on his shoulders interrupted him.

“Merlin, _stop it_.” Vivian’s voice was deeper and commanding. “You’re too weak right now. You’ll only hurt yourself.” Merlin’s glassy, lidded eyes fluttered open when Vivian gave him a rough shake. “Listen to me. What I slipped you was no ordinary sleeping draught. My brother… he is a sorcerer, as well. He taught me how to make potions that can bring anyone—including those with magic—to their knees.”

Merlin recalled the detained sorcerer he had nearly ran into in the hall earlier. Those piercing eyes. That’s it. How did he not notice sooner? “...Thought you looked familiar,” he mumbled, peering up at Vivian. He swallowed and gave his bonds a tug again. There was no way out of this without his powers. Merlin tried to look defiant, but fear cracked through his mask.

Vivian stared at him, a bit sympathetically. “You've seen him, then? Well, I brought you here because I need your partnership. And your magic. Help free my brother.”

Merlin gaped. He nearly got whiplash from thinking he was about to be slowly tortured to instead being asked for a simple favor. “I… _that’s_ why you drugged us and kidnapped me? You know, you could’ve just asked me nicely!” he exclaimed indignantly, eyebrows raised in disbelief. However, he would only assist him under certain conditions. Those conditions being that magic was used for anything but evil. He had empathy for his brothers and sisters of magic, but those who misused their power were not family to him. They held part of the blame for the suffering of those with magic in Camelot. “But first, I must ask: why was your brother using sorcery?” Merlin inquired.

Vivian finally broke eye contact. He opened his mouth and closed it again like a fish out of water. “He... uses it to help him steal. He doesn’t do it often, I swear. Only when we’re starving, or when we need new clothing. It’s nothing that the merchants will miss. And sometimes he’ll help out a group of his friends down at a tavern we frequent.” He added, softer, “we haven't got much of anything, money included. He only does it to help me survive. I cannot practice magic, I've tried. I won’t make it without him. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin stared at the man pleading in front of him. His eyes followed the harsh lines of bones visible under Vivian’s skin and the way his cheeks were slightly sunken. He pursed his lips. “He’s a bandit.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same for someone you cared for?” Vivian retorted effortlessly.

Merlin was silent.

Damn, he had such a soft spot for pitiful people. Sighing, Merlin eventually conceded, “all right, then.” Vivian lit up. “But if he gets caught again, that’s on him. This is a one-time thing. Now, can you untie me?” Merlin shifted uncomfortably, forcing down another wave of nausea.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Vivian smiled. He slipped a small dagger out of his boot, but he did not cut the ropes holding Merlin. “Before that, there is one other thing that I want from you,” he added, as if Merlin hadn’t just displayed immense kindness by even considering helping him. “My brother and I have been praying for someone like you. We are tired of living as shadows. We’re like diseased rats scavenging for scraps of food. And I cannot stand fearing for my brother’s life every waking hour. ...Surely you understand?”

Merlin lowered his head. “Vivian—”

“You must tell the prince.”

“What?” Merlin perked up.

“About your magic, of course.”

Shaking his head, Merlin let out a wry laugh. “Do you think I have a death wish?”

Vivian placed his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, his dagger nearly touching Merlin’s ear. “You two are close, right? Friends, even. If anyone can convince him to accept magic, it’s you. You have the power to end the anguish of all sorcerers in Camelot. You are our only hope. It's not a choice, Merlin. When the prince comes here, you will tell him. If you don’t, then I will.”

Merlin clenched his jaw tight. He could not believe the audacity of Vivian. Once again, he tried to reach out for his magic, but black spots crowded his vision. _Damn it._ It was times like these where he wished his deception skills were stronger. “Friends? Really?” Merlin gave his best unimpressed look. “What ever gave you that idea? I guarantee you—he is already back in the castle, enjoying a nice meal served to him from my replacement,” Merlin lied.

Vivian considered him for a moment. “Every time that I’ve seen the prince, you’ve been right by his side, talking, laughing, fooling around. It’s strange to see him so carefree,” he pondered rather than stated. Retracting from Merlin, he spun the dagger around in his hand. “Don’t worry. He will come.”

⁂

When Arthur awoke, he felt like he needed to hurl. Did that clotpole serve him spoiled food _again_ ? He slowly lifted his heavy head, and something wet was sticking to his face. Did he fall asleep on his meal… _again_? Opening his eyes, he saw a blanket of dead leaves splayed out before him. This was not his chambers, he deduced. To his left, he saw a smoking, dead fire, a spilled bowl, and Merlin’s satchel. Arthur slumped back down on to the ground, massaging his temples. “Meeerlin,” he moaned irritably. He prepared to snap at his worthless servant when there was no immediate response. Then, all of his memories came flooding back.

“Merlin!” he shouted, quickly pushing himself up and pulling out his sword. The sudden motion made the world spin, and he stabbed his sword into the ground, leaning on it for support. Nausea overwhelmed him, and he unwillingly emptied the contents of his stomach. Merlin’s stew certainly didn’t taste as good on the way up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Eyes darting back and forth, he searched his surroundings, but Merlin was nowhere to be seen.

How long had he been out? The overcast sky hid the sun’s position. It was no longer raining, but Arthur was soaking wet. He slicked back his drenched hair. Surely that bastard wouldn’t have taken Merlin if he wanted him dead, right? Even so, that did nothing to calm his nerves. He should return to Camelot and gather some knights in case Merlin was being held somewhere dangerous. But Arthur did not want to waste any more time. Who knows what was being done to Merlin at the moment? All kinds of awful scenarios ran through his head. He grit his teeth. He had to get to Merlin as soon as possible.

He saw Vivian carry Merlin—was it to the west? Dragging his feet in that direction, a bright orange substance on the forest floor caught his eye. It was soggy and dispersed in the rain water, but it appeared to make a crooked path in a certain direction. Arthur bent down and touched some of it with his finger, bringing it to his nose. It was a spice that Merlin liked to use in his stew.

_Smart one,_ _Merlin,_ he thought, a thought he never dreamed he’d have. 

Ignoring the drowsiness that still lingered, Arthur rushed over to their horses. He gave them both a pat and untied them, then pulled himself onto the saddle of his own.

Arthur’s horse galloped steadily as they followed the faint spice trail until he found the bag of spice in a heap on the ground. He cursed under his breath. This must have been where Merlin lost all consciousness. It was impressive that he held on for so long. Now it was going to be a lot harder to find him, but Arthur’s years of building tracking skills weren’t for nothing. He focused on every snapped branch and every partial footprint, trying to block out every horrific idea of what may be happening to Merlin right now.

⁂

Of course this is what Merlin gets in return for being kind. He had given up trying to convince Vivian to let him go. Not to mention, his stomach ached from worrying about Arthur. What if he choked on his own vomit while no one was there to help him? What if bandits found him unconscious and easily killed him? What if the drug was too strong and he never wakes up?

Unable to stand it any longer, Merlin was about to try to force his magic again, but he halted as a glint of silver caught his eye. He felt a glimmer of hope in his chest. Looking past Vivian, he tried to find the source. Merlin only saw the waving branches of the trees as the wind blew softly. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Disappointed, he settled on blankly staring at the wide entrance of the ruins. Arthur was alive. He had to be. The Once and Future King wouldn’t die over something so stupid.

His thoughts were interrupted as a tuft of blonde peeked around the entrance. Merlin did a double take, but his eyes finally met Arthur’s. His shoulders relaxed, and he felt like he could breathe again. Arthur _was_ alive! Then again, this was the last place he wanted him to be right now.

Arthur beamed. He was surprised but thankful to find that Merlin looked relatively unharmed. He noticed the rope around Merlin’s ankles and assumed the same had been done to his arms hidden behind him. Something twisted in his gut at the sight. Arthur’s sword was sheathed, instead he held a crossbow. Slowly stepping out from behind the wall, he aimed at Vivian’s back. He needed to get closer—Merlin and Vivian were so close that he did not want to risk hitting Merlin, despite his excellent aim. Arthur began silently creeping towards them. Merlin opened his mouth, and Arthur held a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. Vivian peered suspiciously at Merlin.

Merlin had to come up with something quickly. “Vivian, you know _Arthur_ is going to _stay away,_ so why don’t we just _get out of here_ and help your brother? I told you, _I’m fine_ with that,” he spoke deliberately, attempting to send a message to Arthur.

Either Arthur was too stupid to understand it, or he simply did not care. He kept advancing.

"We've been over this, Merlin," Vivian clicked his tongue, "why don't you just tell me more about yourself? It'll make the wait go faster. Ealdor is in Cenred's kingdom, yeah? Well, that tavern I mentioned before is near the border, my brother and I love it there." He paused. "I know these circumstances are... rather unpleasant. But after this is all over, perhaps you could come visit with us?" Vivian wasn't entirely sure why he was saying this. But Merlin looked to be his age, and to be honest, he was lonely. All of his 'friends' were his brother's, older and less interested in him. Vivian gave a small, self-deprecating laugh, "maybe we could laugh about this over drinks. ...Even with the prince, too."

Arthur's lip curled in disgust.

Merlin did not hear a word Vivian said. He was beginning to panic. His concern shifted from Arthur finding out about his magic to Arthur killing Vivian. Although Vivian was by no means an innocent man, he did not deserve to die. And his brother didn’t deserve to lose him when he was only trying to save his life.

Arthur had a determined glint in his eye. Throwing away all logic, Merlin quickly blurted, “Arthur, don’t kill him!"

Arthur looked beyond confused. Vivian whipped around, and the moment he saw Arthur and his crossbow, he grabbed Merlin by his jacket, hauling him up to shield himself. He held his dagger to Merlin’s neck for good measure. It must have worked, because Arthur froze in his tracks.

“Let him go.” Arthur’s words were as steady as his aim.

“I just want to talk,” Vivian countered, holding onto Merlin like his life depended on it, because it did.

Arthur tried to stay emotionless, but his nostrils flared with rage. “I don’t want to hear a word you have to say. I said, let go of my servant.” He took a step forward.

Wearily, Vivian stepped backwards, dragging Merlin with him. Merlin struggled to keep his footing with his ankles restrained. Vivian warned, “Stay back. I’ll slit his throat.” He was bluffing, of course, Merlin certainly knew that.

“My arrow is faster than your blade,” Arthur hissed, grasping at straws. His mouth was dry as a desert. He should have shot Vivian when he didn’t have Merlin as a human shield. Why the hell did Merlin reveal that he was there? Although he was fairly confident that he would not hit Merlin, it was still a risk with unthinkable consequences. If his aim was even just a hair off…

“Arthur, don’t,” Merlin urged with pleading eyes.

Arthur frowned slightly. Did Merlin really have so little confidence in his abilities?

Merlin continued, “he won’t kill me.” His Adam’s apple brushed the tip of the dagger as he spoke.

Arthur couldn’t even consider the possibility that Vivian wasn’t a killer. He was holding a blade to a helpless Merlin’s throat. Not to mention, his motive had something to do with magic. Arthur wasn’t having it. “Shut up, Merlin.”

Vivian moved his lips close to Merlin’s ear and quietly echoed, “shut up, Merlin. Threatening you is the only thing keeping me alive right now.” His grip on Merlin’s arm tightened, and he pulled him further back as Arthur continued creeping forward. Desperation growing inside of him, Vivian hissed under his breath, “I’m giving you a chance to do this yourself. Tell him the truth. Show him your eyes.”

A bead of sweat ran down Merlin’s forehead. Sure, he could just let Vivian tell Arthur, and hopefully Arthur would have enough sense to not believe some lunatic. But Vivian wasn’t going to unhand Merlin until Merlin displayed his magic, and Arthur wasn’t going to lay down his weapon until Merlin was safe. They were at a standstill. Merlin had to do something.

“No, Vivian, I’m trying to save your life! Let go of me, and I’ll protect you. I'll tell him not to hurt you. Arthur should listen to me if you’re not trying to kill me,” Merlin explained in a rush. Although, he was not entirely sure about that last bit.

Vivian gave a small shake of his head. “Not until I get what I need. What _we_ need.” Arthur was too close now, and Merlin could feel Vivian’s heart pounding against his back. “I gave you a chance, Merlin,” Vivian mumbled, then locked eyes with Arthur. _Here we go,_ Merlin winced. Vivian opened his mouth to speak and stepped back once more, but his heel caught on a small piece of rubble, causing him and Merlin to stumble. With the sudden loss of control, he accidentally pulled his arm holding the dagger back, and the sharp edge cut into the tender skin of Merlin’s neck. A short yelp of pain escaped Merlin, his face scrunching up.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. With his aim lined up perfectly on Vivian’s head, he fired. 

Distracted by the burning on his neck, Merlin flinched when he heard something whiz past his ear. Then, Vivian’s hold on him fell away. The dagger clattered to the ground. His body followed with a thud.

Merlin turned to see Vivian lying face-up, the end of Arthur’s arrow sticking out from between his frozen-open eyes. Merlin’s heart sunk. He slid to his knees, the motion awkward with the restraints. 

Arthur was already next to him, his gloved hand covering Merlin’s bleeding wound. It didn't seem to be deep, thank God.

“You killed him,” Merlin said in a small voice. 

“Yeah. Not a bad shot, right?” Arthur replied casually as if he had not just nearly had a heart attack after seeing Merlin’s throat get cut. He reached for his tunic and began ripping into it. “Your neck—”

“I told you not to, Arthur! Why do you _never_ listen to me?” Merlin snapped fiercely, taking Arthur aback. His chest huffed in time with his breaths as he was still processing everything that just happened. “He meant no harm, he was just desperate!”

Arthur stared blankly at him. “You all right there? Still drugged?” He playfully nudged Merlin’s head.

Merlin kept a straight face. “I mean it.”

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Arthur scoffed. “Were you brainwashed that quickly? He meant no harm? The man who laced your drink, abducted you right from under my nose, and just sliced your neck like a vegetable? Merlin, I nearly lost my mind searching for you. Now, before you bleed out, hold this against your wound,” he ordered, pressing the ripped lump of his tunic against Merlin’s neck.

“I can’t.” Merlin tugged his arms against the rope coiled around them. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Right. I forgot that one, he also tied you so you could barely move. No ill intentions there, I’m sure.” He picked up Vivian’s dagger, wet with Merlin’s blood, and began sawing at the rope.

“I’m not saying he was right—I’m just saying he had his reasons.”

“And those are?” Arthur inquired doubtfully, careful to not nick Merlin’s skin as he continued slicing.

Merlin had not planned to answer that question. He wasn’t sure that ‘oh, he just wanted to help his sorcerer brother escape the dungeons and change your mind about magic’ would go over well with Arthur. After feeling Arthur pull off the loosened restraints, he rubbed his sore wrists. Merlin simply settled for, “he… Vivian wanted you to help him and his brother survive. He needed a quick way to get your attention.” He gazed at Vivian’s lifeless body. His hand replaced Arthur’s holding the cloth on his injury.

Arthur sighed. “Quick, perhaps, but ineffective. You're too soft, Merlin. It'll be the death of you someday," he murmured in disagreement. Merlin kept staring at Vivian, so Arthur gently pushed against Merlin's jaw, turning his head to look at him instead. "I have no tolerance for those who jeopardize your life, Merlin,” he muttered, then moved to cut Merlin’s ankles free. Merlin tilted his head, giving Arthur one of those skeptical, yet oddly pleased, looks of his. “Or—or the lives of my knights. Or anyone in my kingdom, of course,” Arthur tried to water down his previous statement. “You don’t have to agree, but I think death is a fair payment for his actions. Regardless, what’s done is done. Let’s get you to Gaius.” Arthur offered a supportive hand to Merlin, who took it, and pulled him to his feet.

Arthur was right. Arguing wouldn’t bring Vivian back. As Arthur headed for his horse, complaining about his raging headache from the potion, he didn’t notice Merlin lagging behind.

Merlin got down on one knee beside Vivian’s body and gently brushed his eyelids closed. Vivian was an ass, but Merlin still couldn’t help but to feel empathetic. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “and I will keep my promise.”

⁂

Breaking Vivian’s brother out of his cell was embarrassingly simple. A quick glow of golden eyes, and he had the guards caught up in a fight amongst themselves, allowing him to easily slip past them. Vivian’s brother was bewildered, yet compliant. Once they reached the outskirts of the city, they began the conversation that Merlin had been dreading.

“Who are you? Why did you save me?” came the brother’s questions.

“I’m Merlin, Arthur’s servant," he introduced. "Your brother sent me.”

“Vivian! So he’s safe, after all.” He sighed in relief, and Merlin felt a sharp pang in his chest. "The prince's servant, huh? This was rather bold of you," the man grinned with admiration. It looked awfully similar to Vivian's smug grins.

“Er, yeah. A bit, I suppose," Merlin stuttered. "Actually, uh…” he trailed off, prompting the man's name.

“Vincent.”

Merlin swallowed hard. This was horrid. “Vincent, I’m sorry, but…" Merlin's voice was strained, "your brother is dead,” he revealed.

Vincent was silent. He stared at Merlin with those stormy eyes, looking like the world was crumbling around him. The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes glossed over. “...How?” It was just above a whisper.

Merlin shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “He was shot.”

Vincent took a step closer, his demeanor shifting to something more dangerous as rage trampled over his delicate grief. “Who did it?”

Merlin pursed his lips and didn’t reply. He didn’t exactly want to tell this man—a sorcerer who undoubtedly has strong feelings about Camelot—that the crown prince had killed his brother.

The silence sent the wrong message. Vincent had a deadly glare. “Did you kill my brother?” he growled deeply. Merlin froze. He want to say no, of course not, but he was not sure what else he could say after that. Then, in the blink of an eye, Vincent raised his arm, palm facing outwards. "Tell me," he commanded, then muttered a spell under his breath. Merlin suddenly felt the urge to tell him every little detail.

“No! Of course not. Arthur Pendragon killed him,” _that_ was not supposed to come out, “but it was all a misunderstanding, honest. You see, Vivian was threatening to kill me. I thought he was an absolutely mad bastard,” _oh no_ , “but I knew he wouldn’t really do it. Although, his hand slipped or something, and he cut my neck, see?” Merlin pointed to his gauze-wrapped throat, “and Arthur’s a tad over-protective,” _what?_ “so he—”

“Enough.” Vincent lowered his arm, and Merlin ceased his babbling immediately.

_What the hell kind of magic was that? A truth spell?_ Merlin wondered, eyes wide. 

Vincent clenched his fists and closed the distance between them, looming over Merlin. “Let your prince friend know that he will pay for this. Every single man I know will be after his life, and his death will not be quick. So, I suggest he watches his back. Oh," he paused and gave Merlin's upper arm a strong pat, sending shivers down his spine, "and thanks for the help, Merlin.” With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the forest.

Well, that backfired. Merlin had a horrible feeling deep in his gut. He opened his mouth to call out after Vincent, but he was speechless. There was no way to mend the irrationality that grows from a broken heart.

⁂

When Merlin arrived at Arthur’s chambers, he was standing over a freshly-poured hot bath, struggling to escape his tunic. Merlin paused for a moment, amused by the sight, then helped him slide it over his head.

“Merlin! You finally decided to show up,” Arthur said, his hair a mess.

“You poured your own bath?”

“No, I just got another servant to do so.”

“Figures.”

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly, “I was passed out in the freezing rain, then had to hunt you down without a chance to even dry off. I think I deserve to relax and have a hot bath.”

“That you do,” Merlin smiled. “I never did thank you. For coming for me, I mean.”

“You don’t have to, Merlin.” Arthur gazed at him for a moment. Instead of being genuine, he quipped, “you know it’s a prince’s job to rescue damsels in distress.”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin gave a short laugh. “Oh, come off of it.”

The corner of Arthur's mouth tugged upwards, then his expression turned serious. "How is it?" he asked. When Merlin squinted in confusion, Arthur reached out and ran his fingertips over the gauze around his throat. "Your neck. How does it feel?"

“Oh! It’s nothing. Didn’t even need to be stitched,” Merlin reported in an unconcerned tone. The pulse in his neck thrummed against Arthur’s fingers, and Arthur took a moment to appreciate that he could still feel the proof of Merlin's life.

Arthur hummed. “You know—”

“Arthur,” Uther’s voice interrupted. Arthur jerked his hand from Merlin, turning to face the king in his doorway.

“Father,” he grunted, not at all in the mood to see him right now.

“Get packed. I’ve discovered another quest for you, and it’s a grand one. Reports have come in that the Dagger of Dust is located East of Camelot, near Cenred’s kingdom. This would make a fine addition to Camelot’s collection,” Uther beamed confidently.

Arthur’s face contorted in annoyance. “Father, I’ve just returned from—”

“You will leave at first light. Do not disappoint me, son." His cape flapped as he turned and left.

Throwing his hands up dramatically, Arthur turned to Merlin. Merlin mirrored his motion, silently communicating their mutual irritation. Merlin sighed, “we’ll worry about it tomorrow. For now, let's get you in the bath. I’ll even wash your hair, as you like.”

“I don’t _like_ it—”

“You’re fooling nobody.”

“It’s just simpler,” Arthur huffed.

As Arthur began unlacing his breeches, Merlin added conversationally, “well, I don’t think today could get much worse.”

Then, the warning bells started to peal. The hallways came to life with the sound of running footsteps and guards shouting about an escaped prisoner. Arthur shot Merlin a deadpan, exhausted look.

Merlin grinned sheepishly, and started, “well—”

“Not another word, Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F in the chat for Vivian.
> 
> It may not have been clear, but the sole point of the story was to give a reason for the bounty on Arthur's head in Weak Spot. That's why Vivian mentioned their friends at the tavern. Yikes.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and sticking with me! I hope you liked it!


End file.
